Trust
by DarkAngel0410
Summary: There are some things Punk can only trust his best friend with. Slash, smut


**Story Title:** Trust

**Story Type: **Slash

**Characters: **CM Punk, Colt Cabana

**Pairings: **Punk/Colt

**Rating: **PG-13/NC-17

**Series: **None

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. As much as I would love to be in charge of these two, they belong to themselves/ROH/WWE and, of course, each other.

**Warnings: **Slash, language, smut, knife and blood play

**A/N: **Well, this is a semi-strange one. I got the idea for it when I couldn't sleep one night. I was thinking what kind of kink Punk would have -which, btw, was em's fault in the first freakin' place, lol- in my opinion, he's got a hard core pain kink, along with a love of knife and blood play- and this is a result of that. Enjoy, peeps.

**A/N2: **Just to be clear, this fic includes all the things that I already listed in the above note. So, if that's not your thing, no worries; just hit the back button, and everything's Carlito :)

The first time they had done this, Punk had left right after and gone running back to his ex-girlfriend. Colt hadn't been surprised. Admitting he needed something -or someone- besides himself had never been easy for Punk. The fact that he had even told Colt about it, and then let Colt actually do it, had been more then he had ever thought Punk would be able to do.

So, when Colt had woken up the next morning, alone, he hadn't been stunned at all to hear that Punk had started up with Tracy again. Colt had waited him out; they still hung out and traveled and wrestled together, but they stopped rooming together. And while everyone pretended to ignore it, Colt knew Ace had noticed and that he was worried. Punk was a creature of habit, and he hated change, and for him to completely alter his routine like that -well, Ace knew Punk almost as well as Colt did and he knew something was going on.

After almost a month of it, one night Punk came in Colt's hotel room and stood there, staring at him. It was obvious to Colt that he was fighting with himself, so Colt let him decide. After a few minutes, Punk took a hesitant step toward the bed before pausing. Colt had smiled and simply moved the sheet back and moved over so there was room in the bed for Punk. The relief on Punk's face had been intense and it had hit Colt, as Punk had crawled under the sheets and curled up next to him, that Punk had been punishing himself just as much as he had been punishing Colt.

It took Colt a while to realize that Punk was testing him; the next year that followed was a dance of Punk running and coming back, starting fights and just generally being a bigger asshole then he usually was. More then once, Colt had thought that if Punk had been a different person, it would have coke and heroin binges instead. He lost count of the times Punk crawled into bed with him smelling like a perfume factory; the tense set of shoulders clearly said he expected to get tossed right back out again.

One night, Colt had wrapped himself around Punk and laced their hands together and told him, "I'm never going to kick you out and I'll always love you."

Punk had squirmed at the words and tried to pull away, but Colt had held firm. He figured Punk needed to hear it to understand that Colt meant it. That was the last time Punk had run from him -physically at least. He still had his bitch fits and temper tantrums, and there were days when he would pick a fight with Colt just for the hell of it, but for Colt that was just Punk being Punk. He was used to it, and just smirked and mocked him whenever he threw a fit.

Eventually, Punk had realized that Colt wasn't going any where, and that he meant what he said. It took him longer to accept it, but once he did, there wasn't anything he wouldn't trust Colt with.

Which is how they ended up here; with Punk face down on the bed, his hands curled around the headboard, shuddering, while Colt straddled his legs.

Placing his hand on Punk's lower back, Colt leaned forward, using his weight to keep Punk pinned to the mattress. Tracing the tip of the knife against Punk's skin, Colt teased him; keeping the strokes light, barely letting the cool metal touch him.

Punk whimpered, trying to lift himself up to get closer to what he wanted. He couldn't help the needy noises that were escaping his throat; his famous self control in shreds as he strained against Colt.

Colt eyed the length of Punk's back; the bruises and bite marks -some of them deep enough that they were bleeding slightly- there attested to the fact that he was primed and ready for the next part. Colt realized he had been a little over zealous earlier; a few bruises here and there could be shrugged off from bumps in the ring. Hell, even a bite mark or two could be snickered over and ignored with an eye roll and a knowing smirk.

But the sheer volume of both that were currently decorating Punk's back would look obscene to most people. Not that Punk usually cared what people thought of him, but when it came to his preferences in bed, he kept those cards close to his chest. So close, in fact, that as far as Colt knew, he was the only one who Punk had even _thought_ to tell them to.

The knife fit perfectly in Colt's hand; after almost ten years it was second nature to him. No matter how distracted he was before, once that knife was in Colt's grip, he always made sure he was focused on what he was doing -and on Punk's reactions. In the first place, if he got distracted, and cut some where that Punk's tights didn't cover, there'd be a lot questions that couldn't get shrugged at and laughed off.

And, most importantly, he didn't want to hurt him; there was pain and then there was _pain_ -Punk, once he was at the point where he was ready for knife play, was never in any shape to judge if he should tell Colt to stop. The phrase 'safe word' meant nothing to Punk; as far as he was concerned, he didn't need one. He trusted Colt to decide when enough was enough, and that was all he needed.

At the first touch of steel against his skin, Punk tensed in anticipation, only to let out a low growl of disappointment when Colt only traced it over him, barely leaving a red mark behind.

"Damn it," Punk panted, his breathing harsh. "Just do it already."

Without thinking, he let go of the headboard and tried to turn over. Immediately, Colt moved his right hand out of the way and used his left forearm to shove Punk back down and keep him pinned. He made sure to lean his weight forward, pressing Punk's face into the sheet.

"Don't move," Colt told him, his tone low and serious. There was an edge there that no one else ever heard; dark, rough, demanding. It gave orders and clearly said he expected to be obeyed, quickly and without thought. "Do you need me to get the handcuffs?"

Punk bit his lip to hold back the whimper that wanted to leave his throat. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his hands back around the posts. As much as the idea of using the handcuffs appealed to Punk, he was already worked up to the point of insanity, and he knew if Colt pulled them out now, Colt would tease him for who knew how long.

"No," Punk muttered, breathing heavily. "I won't – No."

After a minute, Colt shifted back, bracing his left hand on the mattress and returning the knife in his right to it's original position.

This time when he ran the knife down Punk's skin, he applied enough pressure to break it; he drew it along the curve of Punk's ass; pausing, he watched a thin line of red well up and then run down the crease where Punk's groin and thigh met.

Punk let out a breathy moan, his body tensing briefly before he relaxed completely and Colt knew if he could see Punk's face, there would be a look of complete bliss on it. For once, his walls would be gone, his guard stripped down. Punk would look happy, relaxed; Colt was fiercely glad that no one but him ever got to see this side of Punk.

When he was done, from Punk's waist to the middle of his thighs was streaked with red. Carefully placing the knife on top of the towel on the night stand, Colt shifted his weight again and wrapped his hand in Punk's hair.

Pulling back on his head, Colt leaned down and bit his throat, smirking at the low moan Punk gave. He ran his tongue over the deep imprint he left in Punk's neck.

"Hands and knees,"Colt ordered, shifting slightly so Punk would be able to move. When he obeyed, Colt moved back to his knees, settling in between Punk's legs. Running the backs of his fingers over Punk's ass and smearing the blood around even more, Colt couldn't help the way his cock twitched at the low moan Punk let out and the way he pushed back at him, blatantly showing Colt what he wanted.

Using his left hand to hold Punk's hip and keep him in place, Colt pressed the first two fingers on his right against Punk's entrance. Without any warning, Colt thrust them inside and moved his fingers in and out, fast and rough.

"Fuck," Punk muttered, trying to keep still and failing miserably.

He strained against the hold Colt had on his hip even though he knew it was useless; Colt never let him do anything until he decided Punk was ready for it. Colt never let himself be swayed by begging or cursing, nothing changed his mind once it was made up.

It was one of the reasons Punk was here with him, like this; the other was that he trusted him, inexplicably, since the first time they met. It's like the part of him that was always on alert, always braced for the betrayal he knew was coming, recognized Colt, recognized the fact that this was the person he had been waiting for, that now he could get what he needed and not worry about anything. It's the closest Punk could ever come to admitting, even in his own head, that he had loved Colt from the moment he laid eyes on him.

"Please," Punk said, the word falling from his lips without his consent. Colt was the only who had ever made him beg; no one before him had ever come close, and Punk had been no shy virgin the first time they'd run into each other at the Domain.

"_Fuck_," Punk rasped out, his hands fisting in the sheets under him. "Colt. Motherfucker. Please -"

It was like that last 'please' was all that he was waiting for; as soon as it left Punk's mouth, Colt moved his fingers and with an ease born of both practice and passion, he snapped his hips forward and was buried balls deep inside of Punk in a seconds.

Punk let out a low scream, his body tensing despite the frantic pleasure that was pounding against the inside of his skull. Colt didn't bother waiting for him to adjust; after so long together, he knew the rougher it was, the harder Punk got off on it.

The stinging pain from Colt hitting the cuts on his ass was just the edge Punk needed to counter point the brutal pleasure of Colt hitting his prostate repeatedly. He needed both for sex to be worth doing; needed that extra edge of pain filled pleasure for him to completely let go of everything when when he came.

It didn't take long before Colt felt Punk tightening even further around him. It never did once they got to this point, though.

Colt slid his over Punk's hip and down to wrap his hand around Punk's dick. Punk faltered for a minute, his whole body shuddering at the feel of his boyfriend's fingers along his cock and groaned before he started moving against Colt's hand.

Colt moved his left hand until it was next to Punk's on the bed and his body was hunched over the other man's. "Do it, Punk," Colt whispered harshly, his hand tightening around Punk's dick. "Now."

Punk closed his eyes; those rough words, in that exact tone, was all it took to send him over the edge. He let out a long, low moan of relief, barely able to keep himself from collapsing. Colt bit down on his shoulders as he came, drawing another strangled curse from Punk.

Once Colt relaxed his grip on him, Punk collapsed onto the bed, his heart pounding as he tried to remember how to breathe. Colt smiled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before standing up and walking into the bathroom.

Punk was still in the same position on the bed when Colt came back from getting a washcloth; face down, arms and legs spread out. Chuckling, Colt wiped the knife off carefully before he put it back in it's sheath and then put it away in the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

"Go ahead, laugh, you smug Jewish bastard," Punk muttered, the affection behind the words unmistakable. "I'm fucken dead over here and you're gloating. This is why the Nazi's tried to kill your people off, asshole."

"So the Nazi's committed mass genocide because Jews were better in bed?" Colt questioned, grinning "Seems a little off to me."

"Could've happened that way," Punk insisted, hissing in a breath when Colt ran the wet cloth over his skin, wiping the blood away. His whole body tensed and then he arched up into the light touch. "Fuck, Cabana, please tell me you don't want to go again already. I'm not twenty five any more; are you trying to kill me?"

"Come on, Punkers, would I do that?" Colt asked, and even though Punk wasn't looking at him, he could picture that sheepish, aren't-I-adorable smile on his face; the one he'd perfected back when they were still in training.

The bed shifted as Colt got up and gently tugged on the sheet Punk was laying on. "Move your ass," Colt said, bending over and tickling Punk just above his hip. Punk jerked away, cursing Colt for his memory; that was the only spot on his body he was ticklish at.

Still muttering to himself, Punk crawled up the bed, letting Colt move the extra sheet that he had on the bed off, so he could toss it in the dirty clothes pile.

Punk made himself comfortable, laying on his side and stretching. The bed dipped down under Colt's weight as he got back into the bed, making Punk roll over toward him a little.

Colt threw his arm around Punk's waist, pulling him closer. "Love you, Punkers," Colt said, nuzzling Punk's neck, right below his ear.

"Stop being a bitch, Cabana," Punk sneered, but there was no heat to the words and he couldn't help the contented sigh that escaped.

He laced there hands together and studied them for a moment; one tattooed and the other plain, but there was no doubt in his mind that they belonged together.

Punk gave Colt's hand an affectionate squeeze and smiled slightly when he returned it. Closing his eyes, Punk fell asleep quickly and painlessly for the first time in weeks.


End file.
